Praise of Hywel, Dean of Bangor
Lord who performs the office of a canon, comparable to Mordeyrn
and Dewi in the land of enchantment,
Cybi of heavenly wealth,
4 companions of Simon and Jude.
He has been blessed just like Saint Jude, of the kindred
of Gwinau Dau Freuddwyd,
Saint Silin, of frankincense[-scented] hearth,
8 psalm of Saint Elien, holy cleric.
A ruler, a holy prophet, descended from Brân, there's one
man
in Bangor in an ermine gown -
a foam-coloured whitewashed house with a fine organ -
12 adeptly he plays the chancel's chord.
My tongue does not sing flattering praise -
no bent ruler will be found next to a straight-edged one
-
it won't conceal from Hywel a fair, lovely life-course
16 through pure and fluent poetic talent.
I've found a supporter (peaceful are the frequent visits),
he'll not let anyone bellow falsely at me (a truly Welsh favour),
no nine men will solicit him in earnest nor challenge him yonder
20 if he becomes angry, prelate lord.
He will have in Gwynedd splendid, emboldening mead,
he loves him who enlightens him, noble lord,
it is not brief, the manly praise that he earns in Môn,
24 land of poets, my poetical Dean.
The genial, dignified man's not base,
my patron is a handsome poet of powerful words,
this is no brittle, senile opinion in the mind,
28 without the man of Gwynedd, the very image of a poet, there'd
be no world at all.
There's no lord alive beneath the stars who compares
with my brave-speared ruler of dazzling lineage, blessed one
whose life is courageous,
a bold, bright-eyed hawk, proud and lively,
32 is not the same as a wren-chick crossing the fields.
The loud utterance of a lowly minstrel
is not the same as the admirable manner of an eloquent man,
the prominence of a boyish youngster is not the same as that of
an elder,
36 harvested wheat is not the same as scorched barley.
Wine from the rim of a carved cup is not the same as mountain
whey,
a peacock, feather-fleeced, is not the same as a wolf,
it's not like Bleddyn, a man not known for his musical talent,
40 that a skilful man will sing a song like Cynddelw.
No gentle Welshman (this is truly frightening),
knows how to reward suppliants in the manner of Rhydderch,
silencing cries, except Hywel, the learned canon,
44 lord of Môn, a brilliant, noble Dean.